"Ahh! Huh… I'm not cut out to be king."
A knight gave his utmost effort to draw his sword. His expression turned ferocious for a moment, yet in the end, it did not faze him at all.
This knight could have easily chopped through larger boulders, but now he lay impotent against a sword whose tip remained embedded in the stone.
The onlookers expressed their disappointment.
Most of the knights present had already tried. The knight who had just attempted was among the most famous in the land. The others had not yet tried—they were merely here to watch the ceremony. They were witnesses, not participants.
If even the strongest knights could not succeed, then surely none of us could.
With that thought in mind, most knights gave up.
Just as Kay had predicted, many nobles and knights were already preparing to hold a competition nearby to decide the successor to the throne.
"Give up. This is a warning," Kay said with a sigh, sincerely hoping that Artoria would immediately turn around and go home.
However, that was not going to happen.
"Perhaps it's simply because the one destined to draw the sword has not yet appeared. Merlin's prophecy will not be wrong—just as when he predicted the white dragon," Artoria answered.
"You—" Kay began, a trace of anger in his voice.
"That's right, but the one who can pull out the holy sword has not yet arrived. It would be too hasty to give up so quickly. Although I don't want to admit it, the ability of that great magician cannot be underestimated. So everyone—even if you are anxious—why not wait until the ceremony is over?"
This loud proclamation attracted everyone's attention, causing those who intended to leave to halt in their tracks.
Kay frowned and, glancing behind Artoria with dissatisfaction, said, "Are you the one who has been following Artoria? What is your purpose?!"
The speaker was a blond boy who looked even thinner and younger than Artoria. Although the two looked quite similar, the boy appeared more masculine, handsome, and without a trace of a silly strand on his head. He wore a light breastplate and a cloak adorned with golden patterns, making him look more like a noble than a knight. His charm far surpassed that of Merlin, and the air around him took on a sweet, almost otherworldly quality that attracted the admiration of the women—and even some of the men—present.
"Tsk, here comes another troublesome guy," Kay muttered.
Kay's expression turned fierce, as if he mistook Arthur for some accomplice of Merlin.
"There's no need to look at me with such hostility, Sir Kay. I'm just here to participate in the sword-drawing ceremony like everyone else," Arthur said, smiling kindly as he addressed the onlookers. In truth, he understood that people craved a king whose interests aligned with their own instead of one chosen solely by prophecy or by the Sword in the Stone—a king whose character and personality were a mystery to all.
After all, the nobles were less concerned with personal virtue than with ensuring that once the new king ascended the throne, their interests would remain largely unscathed.
In a way, the prospect of a strange, unknown king was too terrifying.
The solution was simple: as long as you display an attitude that aligns with the nobles' interests, you can secure their support. And when the Sword of the Chosen is drawn, Merlin's reputation and the accumulated prophecies will win over the people. As for the knights? Their backing would depend solely on your personal charm, however unreliable that might be.
"This is perfectly normal, so don't look at me like I'm suspicious. I'm not a threat," Arthur said with a dismissive wave of his hands. He did appear harmless—but perhaps so harmless that people might question him.
"Haha, stop making me laugh. Do you think you become a knight by merely wearing armor? A young master like you—unable even to keep a warhorse steady—should just go home and enjoy being cared for," Kay, in a foul mood, immediately began to mock him.
"…"
For a moment, even the onlookers were speechless. Both women and men stared at Kay as if he were a monster. How could anyone address such a cute, friendly, and utterly adorable boy in so vicious a manner?!
Indeed, Arthur's appearance was widely welcomed. No one could resist a cute face—even if Arthur occasionally spoke with a sharp tongue, something in him evoked unexpected warmth. Even those who, in theory, knew they shouldn't become attached found their hostility waning in his presence.
At that moment, however, only Kay—the ultimate tsundere with an affinity for Artoria—could tolerate no one but her. It was as if a husky had intruded into a wolf pack; even if within acceptable bounds, the incongruity was glaring.
Subconsciously, even Artoria took a step back.
"These guys," Kay finally said, raising his eyebrows and softening his tone with patience, "just doubt you because you really don't look like a knight. Don't mind it."
"Ah, there's nothing to apologize for, Sir Kay—you need not feel guilty," Arthur replied with a forgiving smile.
Deep inside, however, Arthur thought, It's you, Super Briton!
After glimpsing Kay more clearly, Arthur could barely control the tremor in his calves. He vividly remembered that along the way, he had witnessed Kay biting a giant's throat to pieces—a bloody, brutal scene that haunted him with nightmares for two consecutive nights. This guy truly was a savage.
"You… just take it as it is," Kay muttered, clenching his fists and looking away with a frustrated expression. "I'm not apologizing. Don't misinterpret my words, you bastard noble kid!"
But after glancing at Arthur twice more, Kay's anger subsided considerably.
What? On closer inspection, Arthur seemed like nothing more than a clingy child. If Artoria were like him, perhaps she wouldn't always be so stubborn.
"Well, in the final analysis, it's my own problem. Do I not look like a knight? After all, there's no stipulation in the prophecy that the one who draws the sword must be a knight," Arthur remarked, casting a meaningful look at the nobles. "Knights, almost all of you have tried, so why don't the remaining nobles give it a try? The opportunity is equal for all, isn't it?"
At these words, the nobles' eyes lit up, and one by one they stepped forward. Even those knights who had given up before—and weren't very well known—were tempted.
Yes, the one who draws the sword becomes king. But there was no rule that only the most powerful knights could pull it free.
From the beginning, it was understood that drawing the sword did not depend solely on brute force but on a set of qualifications that surpassed bloodline, talent, and strength. Since everyone possessed that potential, why not give it a try?